Get Out and Live Life
by KatyaX
Summary: This kit contains everything you need to make a SSHG fanfic. Contents: Meddling Albus 1, Sarcastic Snape 1, Hermione in state of upheval 1, bottles of Firewhiskey umlimited. Not included: Revised marriage laws, pregnancy, detentions.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I'm thrilled to announce the first installment of this story about Hermione and Snape and the space between the bullets and the fire. This story takes place in a timeline where all that horrible stuff with Snape being a double agent, etc., has happened but Albus is still with us. I… don't know if I'll resolve how THAT'S come to pass… But let's not worry about that now, eh? Let's just talk about Snape and Hermione and how great that is, okay?

A grateful shout-out to my beta, Blue, who like me, can't spell, but has some great ideas ;)

Get Out And Live Life

Several sherbet lemons and two cups of strong tea got Albus Dumbledore through a difficult but necessary letter that he had decided to pen a week ago. He signed his name in a flourish of ink and folded and sealed the parchment with a glob of blue wax pressed flat with his stamp. With a small sigh he turned and moved slowly over to the open window where a solidly built but gentle looking black owl was perched.

"You were good to come, my friend." The owl clicked his beak a little and held out his foot. "Oh, no need, no need. This is going just upstairs, please. To Miss Hermione Granger, Top of the North Tower." The bird took in his beak the folded letter that the Headmaster held out to him and blinked largely before he turned and stretched his wings. He glided down gently a moment or two and then beat his wings silently as he rose and headed for the far tower.

There was a ring of windows lit with candle glow all around the top of the North Tower's spire. There was one round room at the top of the tower. It was a squat room with a trap door entrance in the very center of the floor. It used to belong to Professor Sybil Trelawney, although Hermione Granger always thought that "professor" was more of an honorary title in this particular situation.

It looked nothing like it did when Hermione had seen it for the first time seven years ago. Trelawney took almost all of her squashy chairs and little ottoman poufs when she left three years ago. She'd also packed up the candles and the thick, heady incense, her scarves and her warm lamps, all of which gave the whole place a feeling of being trapped inside of an attic, which had not been aired for over two decades. But once Hermione thought about it, she realized that was exactly the problem. She had redecorated immediately. So she charmed the thick stained glass windows and replaced them with large curved panels of glass that let the light in and could be opened to circulate the fresh air. It had taken her the better part of a week to get them transparent as real glass, but it had been worth it. Once Hermione managed to air the scent of sage and old tea out of the place, it began to feel less like the place she had protested the ridiculous unfounded subject of divination and more like what it had become: her very own classroom.

Not yet graduated from Hogwarts, Deputy Headmistress Professor Minerva McGonagall had called her into her office for a cup of tea and an offer to teach at the school beginning the start of next term. That was, of course, if she had not already accepted a position elsewhere. Hermione confessed that she had considered dozens of other options since before even taking her O.W.Ls her fifth year, but only because she did not think that there would be an opening in the staff that could accommodate her. But with Firenze teaching more and more students through N.E.W.T.s, Professor Trelawney decided that she was no longer wanted and applied to an advertisement for a caretaker to a large summer home in Mead. And with Voldemort gone and the prophecies concerning him and Harry Potter fulfilled, Dumbledore had decided that maybe it was easier to just let the woman go. And, as it turned out, Professor Vector had also decided to submit her resignation, although for reasons much more ordinary. She had been teaching Arithmancy for over thirty-five years at Hogwarts and had finally decided that she wanted to see Brazil.

So Hermione accepted, with much pride and excitement, the position of Professor of Arithmancy. She'd been so overwhelmed at the idea that she did not even take the time Professor McGonagall had suggested she take to discuss the offer with her parents, or at least her best friends, Ron Weasely and Harry Potter. She'd thanked McGonagall profusely and, when McGonagall had offered her hand to shake, a bursting Hermione embraced the stunned older woman with both arms.

Three years had come and gone like a wind through the trees.

Hermione stared heartbroken at the letter in her hand. Her muscles tensed and her thumb began to dent the parchment. She clamped on to it, crushing it further in her tight hand, as she ran across the classroom and climbed down through the trap door.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Welcome to chapter two. So… What was that letter in chapter one all about anyway?

It was nearly nine o'clock at night. The students had been gone nearly a week and there were no staff members walking the halls. Hermione's boots made angry echoing clacking noises on the marble as she marched for the Headmaster's office. She scurried quickly to catch the staircase that was moving off to the left as that would shortcut her to the seventh floor. She'd thought of arranging to floo into his office but that didn't have the same effect as banging on his office door with her own clenched fists.

She arrived outside of the large gargoyle and huffed. "Licorice wand," she spat as though she was cursing. The statue moved aside and the magical spiraling staircase behind him came into view. She hopped aboard wishing she could run up the rest of the way. She had so much energy seething inside of her.

Dumbledore's office door was closed as she rounded the corner but it opened an inch as she neared it.

"Come in, Professor Granger. I've been expecting you."

She slid inside and glowered at him as she leaned across his desk. "Expected me to do what, exactly? Pack my bags and leave quietly? I can assure you, Sir, that's not going to happen!"

Dumbledore said nothing, but waved his hand off to the left of his desk and summoned a tea cart with all the amenities already assembled. He also quickly conjured a comfy armchair and pushed it up against the backs of Hermione's knees. She took the hint and flopped into the chair, her maroon robes wafting up for a moment and then settling over the arms. She did not accept the cup and saucer that hovered near her free hand, but instead continued to glare at Dumbledore.

The Headmaster took a sip from his cup and nodded. "I see you received my letter."

"Yes. Quite. I am to believe, Sir, that, as of tonight, I am not only jobless but homeless as well?"

"My dear Professor Granger, would you care for a biscuit?"

Hermione resisted the urge to hex him to holy hell. "You are JOKING, Sir? That I should like to take a biscuit with my right hand as I hold my severance in my left?"

"I find that a comforting sweet often brings one's current state into a more manageable light."

Hermione stared at the old man, a hundred and sixty years old, the man who sacrificed himself in more ways than one to save Wizarding and Muggle kind alike several times in the last five decades. She really would hex him to holy hell if he didn't get on with explaining why, exactly, he'd sent her a letter that read:

To Professor Hermione Jane Granger, As of 31 June, consider yourself sacked.

Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore Headmaster Hogwarts

Again he insisted, pushing the tin a little closer. Hermione's eyes narrowed and a small growl started in her throat as she reached for what looked like a gingersnap. Without taking her eyes off of Dumbledore, she shoved the biscuit in her mouth and chewed roughly.

Taking advantage of her now full mouth he continued. "There was a time when the things you knew were not all from books. Yes, you lived, Miss Granger," he said addressing her as he did when she was a student. "You lived life, you didn't read about it. The risks you took, the adventures you had, the dangers you faced, ah, that is what these children must be taught. Do you think that Voldemort will be the last Dark Wizard to attempt immortality and an iron fisted rule? No, my dear, Voldemort was not the end of the darkness. One day, another will come, and he or she must be defeated just the same. The ones who will do that are but children now. But the ones who can teach them how to do it… Miss Granger, you will be one of those teachers."

Finished chewing, Hermione's mouth was slightly open and her brow was knit. She leaned forward in her chair. "You've discovered another prophecy," she guessed, her eyes hopeful. For if Dumbledore had perhaps a prophecy in his confidence, even one from Sybil Trelawney, she would at least consider his position when it came to meddling with her personal life.

"No, no, nothing as sinister as that. I merely wish that you will come back in ten years and teach what you have learned from living and doing, rather from books and essays."

"You're sacking me to make me a better teacher!?"

Dumbledore looked up and smiled. "Ah, Miss Granger, you always were the one to put things in perspective for young Ron and Harry. How good it is that you have learned to trust yourself as well." He poured himself another cup of tea.

"But, Sir! Ten years!"

"Oh, two months, ten years," he smiled with an arbitrary wave of his hand. "Time is all the same when it is full of experience, isn't it? When it's productive?"

Slowly she continued. "Sir, I understand that you would like me to… Become stronger in order to face the things that may come… But why now? Why like this? Why are you sacking me? Can't I… Train over the summer, Sir? Perhaps take a position with the Ministry, or ---"

Dumbledore shook his head and stood. "Miss Granger, my dear, that is precisely the point. You have locked yourself up in this school's walls since you were eleven. And while you have proved yourself one of the most invaluable students that has ever walked through our doors, it seems that Hogwarts has done you a disservice."

"In what way, Sir?" she nearly pleaded. She felt the need to defend the school she so loved, but her confusion made her sound quite desperate.

"We offered you the position to teach here before you even graduated," he reminded her. "Can you imagine, my dear, what we have kept you from?" Without allowing her to interrupt he pressed on. "There was that offer from Gringott's to take up a post in forecasting securities. And then, two years ago, the opening for a liaison to the American Muggle President? They held that open for you for three months hoping you'd change your mind. Why, there was even a position available at Beauxbatons as deputy headmistress last year. And you have constantly been offered challenging posts by the Ministry of Magic. Not to mention that you had a burgeoning relationship with Professor Snape - - ''

Hermione's bushy head snapped up from her tea cup and her eyes were wide. "With all due respect, Headmaster, our relationship was completely platonic."

"I never said otherwise, Professor Granger. But you are the first person to accomplish such a task as befriending Severus. And it was indeed cut short by your refusal to accept a job at the Ministry. As such, being new and coexisting between the two of you, it could be accurately described as a burgeoning relationship, could it not?"

"I supposed you're correct, yes," Hermione said in a smaller voice that when she had first interrupted. "Excuse me."

"Not at all, my dear." Dumbledore smiled kindly at her and reminded himself to tread lightly with matters near to her heart. She was an adult now, not a child, and she was perfectly capable of making her own decisions.

Well, maybe not perfectly, he amended.

"Please don't sack me, Albus." She stared into her tea and took a deep breath. "I don't want to go. I genuinely, truly, really don't. I've chosen to stay here. I like it here. I don't want to get a new job or travel or see the world just yet. I want to stay here."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and gazed at her appraisingly. "And that, my dear, is why you must leave."


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Who's in the mood for smooth, velvety tones, raise your hand?

"I heard you might be coming to work at the Ministry," said a low, almost bored voice from behind her.

Hermione whipped around from the box of books she was packing and faced her old Potions Master, Severus Snape. He looked quite out of place in the attic. His tall, thin black figure contrasted heavily with the squat, brightly lit room. But then again, she thought, he always looked out of place anywhere except the dungeons. Tossing the books she was holding haphazardly into the box, she hurried over to her visitor with her arms open.

Snape was taken off guard at first, but allowed Hermione to hug him around the middle, even though he did not reciprocate immediately. It was something she'd started doing years ago to greet him and to see him off. He had rarely, if ever, returned the favor, but he had noticed he'd never impeded her. And then, later, well… Embracing her had been the least of his worries.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you, Severus," she said, her voice muffled in his robes. As she stepped back he cleared his throat and tried to regain the vampiric countenance that he regularly displayed. "I'm sorry I nearly bowled you over, but I'm really glad you're here."

"I heard about your…" he searched for the right word. "Dismissal," he finished. "I must say, I was rather sorry about it."

They both knew that he was lying. He'd been trying to finagle a way to get her transferred for the last year and a half, ever since he himself had left Hogwarts to work with the Aurors. If it hadn't meant so much to her to teach, he would have tried to get her fired himself. He never told her flat out, but he missed her. "Oh really," she said, reading his mind. "I wouldn't be surprised if you had a hand in it. What did you and Albus talk about the last time you took a meeting with him, hmm?" she asked, her eyes narrowed but her smile spreading.

"If you're trying to insinuate something, Granger, I suggest you step lightly. I won't have my good name besmirched." To this she scoffed. "Besides," he continued, this time with a little more sincerity, "you like it here. I wouldn't try to uproot you. In fact, you'll recall, I didn't try to uproot you." He took a seat on one of the few remaining chairs that didn't have several boxes piled on top of it. Snape looked around and sighed, his mouth pulling into a lazy resigned sort of smile. "Sixteen years, and look at the trouble I caused, and Albus never kicked me out. Whatever did you do to get fired, anyway?"

Hermione groaned at his accusation and went back to packing. "I haven't really been fired," she explained, "just… sent on a new mission… For the Order, of course… I guess." Truthfully she did not know. "We may not meet as regularly as we did before we battled Voldemort, but the Order's work is still very important in keeping an eye on dark wizards. And, as Dumbledore said, there's always the chance that a new face will pop up, maybe even madder than the Dark Lord. And he just wants me to be ready, I guess." The last part she added resolutely as she spell-o-taped up the box she'd been working on.

"Well. Are you… All right with that?"

"I guess it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"He can't make you leave, if this is where you really want to stay."

"I think you're missing the most important part, Severus, and that is that he's the one person who definitely CAN make me leave." She was quiet for a few moments as she turned and looked at her desk. It was on a riser against the curved wall. It was a darker wood than that of the walls and floor and it stood out as being very strong and very classy. On it she kept several current texts on Arithmancy and numerology, a lovely red and gold quill set that Ronald Weasely had given her when they had finished school, and a small pewter cauldron with different gemstones set into it to represent various key potion ingredients. She touched the corner of the desk and sighed. "I worked really hard for this," she whispered. "This desk is a symbol of something that a girl like me shouldn't have. I earned this position. I don't think I should have to give it up."

Snape, who was rarely intimidated by anyone, even a woman who was on the verge of tears, looked down at his feet and wished for something better to say than "I know." But as she started wrapping up her desktop items, he got up and walked over to her.

"You still have that stupid trophy," he said, his voice deep and thoughtful. He'd given it to her at the end of her fifth year at the awards ceremony at the Leaving Feast. Hermione had not only had the highest OWL scores in her year, but also the best overall performance in Potions. He picked up the weighty bludger-sized award. Like a mental portkey he landed back in the Great Hall with her.

She'd already collected nearly eighty percent of the highest awards given out so far that afternoon. He'd watched her rise from her seat between Potter and Weasely. Snape handed her the pewter cauldron set with emeralds picking out fluxweed, onyx set to look like black beetles (enchanted to crawl about), rubies to depict newt eyes (which actually blinked), and blue sapphires to represent Glumbumble parts. But unlike her previous awards, she actually looked at this one for a moment and smiled, delighted.

He watched her pause, and through all the applause and though they were in front of everyone, she reached out, waited for him to shake her hand, looked him in the eye and said "Thank you, Professor."

It was a happy memory now, though at the time he refused to recognize it as such. "I would have thought you'd have packed that up a while ago."

"Why should I?" she asked. "I earned this too, and I was very grateful and pleased to get it. Besides, it's from you, and I like it." She took it back from him and packed it near the top of the current box.

"That's just it, though, don't you think? Potions class is over. You made it through seven years, your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. Don't you think it's time to move on?"

"I have!" she insisted, a confused squint in her eye.

"And you made it, Granger. You even turned down a better position at Beauxbatons to work here because you LIKE it more. And now it's time to move on again. You already accomplished it. For three years, you have accomplished it. So what's the harm in moving on again?"

"…There is none, I supposed. I just like it here, that's all."

"You're afraid to leave?" he guessed slowly, a small amused smile began to play at his lips. "You faced down the Dark Lord Voldemort without a wand, and you're worried about changing jobs?"

"It's not that simple."

"It's not that complicated."

"Oh, shut up and hand me that box, then." She was irritated, but he knew it wasn't at him, not really. "I just want to finish packing and have dinner. I haven't eaten all day, I've been so brassed off." She exhaled heavily and looked up over the new box she was packing. "I know work's got you running in ten directions at once, but would you have time to join me? I still have an office here for another day or so. At least I think so…"

"I had a feeling you'd want some company. I'm actually off duty for the next week."

"You're joking! How did you manage that?"

"Well, I haven't taken a holiday since I started working at the Ministry three years ago. So Lupin said I either take a break or keep working and not get paid for it."

"Well, if I'd known an idle threat was all it would take, I would have pressed Remus to do so quite a while ago."

"And if I'd known you'd pack up so quickly, I would have had Albus sack you months ago."

She leaned against her desk and looked up at him. There was a familiar but heavy silence between them again. It made his chest tight with a cold fear that he'd never experienced before he'd started talking to Hermione Granger like a person instead of a student. She would look at him like he was the biggest git in the world, but still she was all right with that. Why that scared him so much he wasn't sure. He'd never felt more comfortable with someone that made him so uncomfortable all the time.

"Well," she said, "I suppose our wishes are granted? You're not going to see the office for several days, and I've been let go. What WILL we do with our time?"

Her eyes were sparkly in the bright classroom. Why did she have to look at him like that? She always knew how to say more than words would allow. He always wanted to remind her that it was he who was skilled in Legilimency, damn it.

"Floo in your office still work?" he asked.

"Yes. I should think so."

"You're going to be spending a lot of time outside this castle soon enough. I suppose we should get you started."

"What…?"

He took her hand and led her to the trap door. "Come, don't make me carry you. Down you go."


	4. Chapter 4

Less than a quarter of an hour later they were brushed clean of floo powder and seated in the back corer booth of Esculentus. Snape, who was never one to spend galleons wantonly, had conceded that Esculentus was "bloody worth it,"or so he had told Hermione when he took her there for her birthday a year ago. Located at the end of Diagon Ally next to Ollivander's Wands, Esculentus was more of a bistro, and more subtle and intimate than the Leaky Cauldron or the Three Broomsticks, neither of which Snape was particularly fond. People he didn't like were always trying to buy him drinks and talk about things he'd prefer to forget.

"Didn't see this coming. A nice surprise, I have to say."

Snape pushed his menu away. He knew exactly what he wanted. "Well, it's more for me than you, so don't feel too special. It's my vacation after all."

She didn't look up but she smiled, and he noticed. Years of Granger therapy and he still had trouble being nice to her without being back handed as well. He supposed it was his way of not crossing some kind of line that he didn't even want to admit existed between them. Because admitting the line even existed meant he'd have to admit that it was crossable, potentially. And once you started admitting things like that, well…

She looked up and caught him staring. He looked away as though he cared what the walls looked like, and she smiled again. Their waiter came by a moment later and they ordered a bottle of Chateau Lefite instead of glasses.

As was their habit, dinner passed without much conversation. Coffee and desert usually brought them around to discussing the things they had spent most of the main course thinking about in silence.

"When you came up today, you said you heard that I might be taking a job at the Ministry. Wherever did you hear that?"

"You didn't apply?" he asked, a little confused.

"No, of course not. I only just got my letter yester…day…" She stopped stirring her coffee. "That lousy old man," she hissed.

"Albus," he nodded. "Yes, he does have a tendency to get in there and meddle, doesn't he? Next thing you know, Durmstrag will be owling you wondering when you'd like to start."

"Oh, don't joke. That's not even funny. Really." She rolled her eyes and sipped quietly. "Merlin, what the hell am I supposed to do? I ask you, what does Albus know that I don't?" She shook her head. The man was a genius and she trusted him with her life, but his motives in this case were rather wooly.

"I worked for the man for nearly twenty years, and discounting the_… _circumstances," he added, alluding to his role as a double agent for both Dumbledore and Voldemort, "they were the best years of my life." She looked up and raised a perfectly arched eye brow. "Excluding these last several being friends with you, of course," he added with a cautious smile. "My point is he knows what he's doing. If he's sending you off to… Do something, and he didn't tell you what that something is, it stands to reason that it isn't a specific something, hmm? That whatever you choose to do will fulfill his foggy requirements." He sipped his coffee. "At least, that's the theory, anyway."

"Wonderful. I feel much better now." She finished off the last of her raspberry cheesecake and set her fork down very genteelly, though she wanted to stab it into the tabletop. "Oh, Merlin," she hissed.

"What?"

"I don't have a place to stay. Damn it. I was planning on staying at the school this summer," she explained. "You remember? I gave up that horrible flat last autumn after it got broken into."

"Oh, yes. Well." He dabbed his lips to his napkin.

"He's got everything figured out, hmm?" she grumbled. "I'll be even he forgot that I haven't a place to live now. Bloody . . . " And she trailed off to the point that Snape couldn't hear her, though he wasn't exactly paying attention to what she was saying. The wheels were turning.

"Ah. Granger."

"And you'd think that the old man would have the decency to give me some forewarning about something like this, and…"

"Granger," he tried again.

"The worst part is, my parents have turned my old room into a sewing room. Would you believe that? My mother hates that sort of thing, but she still - "

"Granger!" he hissed, putting his hand on her arm. She stopped flailing and looked at him with confusion. "Listen. Why don't you just… Come over to my house then? There's plenty of room. You won't have to keep your trunks miniaturized, or leave behind any of your books, or your stupid trophies. And…" And it's a big empty house with only me in it, he suppressed.

Hermione looked a little shocked. "I don't… Ah… No, I couldn't do that to you. You like your space, and it wouldn't be fair. I'll… Stay with Ron and Ange," she insisted, referring to Ron Weasely and his girlfriend Angela Distern. "Or maybe Harry - "

Snape put another hand up and looked away in muted disgust. "Why don't you just stay with me?" he said again, meeting her eye now.

Another silence like that in her office came between them then and she smiled very gently. "I'm sorry, that was rude. That's a very nice offer, and I'd appreciate it very much."

He removed his hand from her arm and nodded. "Good. We'll finish up at your office tomorrow? And then we can floo back to the house."

"That'd be fine. Perfect," she smiled, feeling a bit better. She sipped the last of her coffee. "You know, it's really all right if - " 

"Granger!" he warned. "If you really want to live with Weasely and his girlfriend while you embark on your new spiritual journey, then fine, go. I won't stop you again." He continued to count out galleons to accommodate the bill.

"No," she smiled. "No, I'll stay."

"Good. Because if you don't stay with me, I'll have to listen to you complain about living with Weasely, and I'd really rather not."


	5. Chapter 5

"You've got too much stuff, Granger." Snape picked up another one of her trophies and snorted. "Pomona really wouldn't mind if you threw this out, you know." He was fingering an award she'd won in her second year for Herbology. Something like Devil's Snare in the form of enchanted pewter was winding its way around his wrist. He tried to shake it off, but the charm was a bit old and he was having a pain of a time trying to get it to yield.

"I earned that, too," she replied. "Now stop unpacking my things or we'll never get out of here."

"I didn't think you were so eager to leave," he smirked, flicking his wand at the old trophy now making its way up his shoulder.

"I'm not. But if I've got to go, then I'd rather get out of here before - "

"Miss Granger?" A wispy and decidedly old voice came from across the room.

"Ah, blast," she hissed. Hermione turned and smiled politely. "Headmaster."

"Ah, and Severus. How good to see you." He spread his arms in the only kind of embrace Snape would except from him - from across the room, no touching.

"Albus," Snape nodded.

"Come to see me off? Or are you here to revoke my Apparition license as well? I have some lovely old trophies that you can melt down if you're feeling particularly malevolent."

Even Snape winced.

But Dumbledore looked bright and merry and shook his head gently. "No, no, Professor Granger. It is not your awards that I am after this morning, but Severus' good company." He gestured at the younger man.

"Ah," Snape said with a small nod. "What can I do for you?" Undoubtedly he called the white-bearded fellow friend; yet in light of Hermione's mood and malice, he thought it best not to appear too pleasant.

"If it would be agreeable, perhaps you might spare a moment to have a cup of tea with an old man?"

If Snape could have erected wards around his better judgment he would have had his hand back on his wand. But Dumbledore always did have a way of being exceptionally persuasive. "Of course, Sir." He set down the now stupefied trophy and looked back at Hermione. "You'll be all right for a while?"

Hermione, looking quite indignant at Albus for taking yet something else away from her when she needed it the most, grunted and waved her hand in a flourish. "Why not? I was wondering when you'd be whisked off to talk about me behind my back. The faster you get it over with, the sooner you can help me shrink all these." She waved her hand again impatiently at the dozens of battered boxes.

Snape, not wanting to be on the smoldering end of her fury, took his leave and followed Albus through the trap door and down the stairs.

She'd been his student for six years, and he'd known her since she was a child. But somehow over the years, they had become partners in a way. When she'd come to teach at the school he'd been very nearly furious. The know-it-all, the hand waver, the perpetual asking and answering machine. What curse, what dark prophecy, had wafted her back his way to deposit her five seats to his right at the head table? Who had he pissed off in a former life, he wondered aimlessly, that she was now being thrust upon him?

Hermione Granger had returned after some loose ends of the Second War had been dealt with by Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and herself. Once the final battle had been waged against Voldemort and won however, she'd found herself gravitating back to the place she'd called home for nearly seven years. She'd returned two years after Voldemort had been defeated. It was the same year that Severus Snape was acquitted by the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot after all charges had been cleared against him. Both returning hungry to set their lives in order again, they had, almost unknowingly, sought each other out over the weeks and months that followed their first days back.

He'd watched her be introduced at the start of term feast, and she watched him from the corner of her eye and she stood and accepted the welcoming applause. It had been two years since they'd been in the same room together, and she was, oddly enough, anxious to say hello to him again. Snape, despite several moments of brief but profound reminiscence over the past few years, was inversely not.

But his interest had be piqued years ago that first night she'd found him hiding in Grimmauld Place the summer after Death Eaters had converged on Hogwarts School.

Down in the kitchen she'd found him. She surprised him and he'd nearly taken her head off with a hex. But the look on her face had been resolute, no trace of fear. He'd forgotten what it was to feel like that, unflinching, calm, strong. He'd been on the run for most of the summer by then, reduced to scavenging from Black's kitchen as his own home was still unprotected at the time.

She'd returned to the house because she'd forgotten a particular text in the drawing room. She had neglected to tell anyone she was going. She was alone. So, why then, he sneered, his wand at her heart, wasn't she trembling?

"Let me put a pot of tea on, then, and I'll tell you."

Merlin, she was cheeky even then.

As she set out the sugar she elaborated. She'd known, and more importantly, believed, that he was innocent of maliciously trying to kill Dumbledore. Hermione told him her theory on the whole sorted affair. The plan had been Dumbledore's. The old man was dying anyway; the withered hand that wore Marvolo Gaunt's ring was proof of that. Something had to be done. He'd made an Unbreakable Vow with Dumbledore, she ventured. He was life-debted to James Potter, and though James was gone this would save Harry Potter's life in the long run. He'd had to kill the Headmaster.

By his third cup he was admitting that he was impressed with her.

She hadn't seen him face to face since that night, though she'd tried to attend his hearing at the Wizengamot. Audience members had been barred though, and she didn't meet up with him again until a week after she'd started teaching.

Professor Snape didn't attend meals in the Great Hall as often as most of the staff did, choosing instead to have house elves bring up a tray for him in his rooms. The banter that usually accompanied meal times at the staff table was usually so boring and self-serving that Snape often left early or skipped afters resulting in his lank appearance. Even after two years away he was not interested in catching up with is co-workers.

But one Friday night Professor Hermione Granger and Professor Severus Snape both reached for the chair on the very end of the staff table at the same time.

"You know, Miss Granger, that this is my chair?" his low voice a veiled threat.

"I do, yes, Sir. But you see, I'm in particular need of it tonight." She smiled plainly but patiently.

He didn't move his hand from the gold-flecked wood, but neither did she.

"I like sitting on the end. I like not having to be surrounded by mind numbing banter."

"Sir, I can honestly say that I completely understand," she assured.

When again she did not relinquish the chair he continued. "There is an empty chair there between Alastor and Pomona. Perhaps you can invade their personal space this evening?"

"Oh, stop being so mean to me, will you? Look, I just... Can I just sit with you at the end please? I can't stand to listen to Sprout complain about her botched mandrake crop, and Alastor always tries to grab at me for a lark. I've had a rotten day, and it would really be nice if I could sit next to someone who doesn't expect me to make small talk."

Snape hesitated for a moment and she was sure he was going to tell her to suck it up. But he pulled out the chair at the end of the table for her and then took a seat between her and Flitwick.

"You owe me, Miss Granger," he rumbled.

"My life, Sir."

"You're a teacher now, Miss Granger. You don't have to call me 'Sir' anymore."

"Then perhaps you'd like to call me 'Professor?' Or 'Hermione,' instead of Miss Granger?"

"No. Not particularly."

"Fair enough, Professor. My surname will do, then." She pulled the chair more snuggly under her bottom and surveyed the faire.

"I thought you didn't want to talk," he said wearily, dropping into the seat between her and Flitwick.

"I don't, but you started it. Pass the wine, would you? It's been a long day."

He passed it and watched as she filled her cup nearly to the brim. "Long day indeed," he smirked.

"Well, let's just say I understand now why you spoke of Neville Longbottom as you did."

"Oh, really? Sympathy for the devil. Will wonders never cease?"

One day they just started talking over dinner in the Great Hall, and they didn't stop. Snape actually found himself looking forward to hearing about her lousy day and then telling her about his. McGonagall raised an eyebrow at Sprout, but nothing was said to either of them about it. At some point, this behavior carried itself to tea in his office, to patrolling shifts together after hours, and sometimes weekends at the Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade. There were whispers and jokes among the students about the two of them always at the other's side, but the truth was Hermione and Snape had actually become friends.

They spoke of classes and of students, who was promising and who was hopeless. They compared notes on articles in the wizarding journals and debated the impact of the Muggle spintronics on magic theory. They drank tea and argued over potions versus Arithmantic healing therapy in raised but respectable voices. Professor Remus Lupin would often pass Snape's study when he patrolled the dungeons, and upon hearing their heated arguments, would roll his eyes good-naturedly.

It didn't really surprise anyone when they started requesting Hogsmeade chaperoning duties together or started sitting together at Quidditch matches. But when they both disappeared over the Christmas holiday McGonagall had to lend her two knuts. She didn't care what was going on, or even what wasn't going on, she'd clarified with a little blush. But keep it professional around the students she reminded. And before she sent them from her office, she added "It's about time," with a little smile.

This came as a surprise to both Severus and Hermione, seeing as nothing unprofessional had been going on between the two of them, even over the hols, which had been spent separately on two different continents.

It did, however, put some choice thoughts into both their heads.

But for all their near-feeble attempts at romance - and whole-hearted tries at scandalous unbridled lusty passion - they kept coming back to the same point on the map. And had they not both liked that point, perhaps they would not still know each other now, nearly seven years later.

Though, Severus Snape was not about to admit it, he missed her in his bed, rolling over, seeing her in the light of dawn. It had been years but… Well… Still. He hadn't invited her to stay at his house for nothing anyway. But all that remained to be seen. The invitation had been spur of the moment and without intent. But he wasn't about to let an opportunity go to waste. Of course, that also meant that there was the definite possibility that he would be exponentially disappointed if their old habits did not rekindle themselves.

But it was worth the effort, he thought. He didn't have much else to lose, anyway.


End file.
